


Frosh

by badjokes



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Bad Parenting, Best Friends, Fluff and Angst, Freshman Year, Gen, Good Friends, Hurt/Comfort, emo shit i guess, gets better though, good roommates, how do you tag an ao3 story jesus fucking christ, shitty didn't know about jack, shitty's just as fucked as jack is, they are good friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:55:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7567999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badjokes/pseuds/badjokes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Shitty's freshman year of college. New town, new school. Everything's coming up roses. Now if only he can keep his fuckin' mouth shut...</p><p>Enter one tall, pale, Canadian roommate who doesn't seem to mind that Shitty literally cannot shut up. Who, in fact, seems to enjoy when he talks. Who, for some reason, seems to relate to Shitty's constant apologizing for being loud and annoying. </p><p>It's honestly enough to give a guy a complex.</p><p>(As if he didn't already have one.)</p><p>//THIS BITCH?!?!? ABANDONED.//</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. August-September

It’s two and a half weeks before he identifies the cause of the gnawing suspense that’s making his shoulders twitch whenever anyone speaks to him. Two and a half weeks of him opening up his mouth to make an effervescent statement about something that’s stirred up his emotions and made his thin blood run hot. Two and a half weeks of clicking his teeth shut, biting down on half-formed words.

It’s been two and half weeks since the beginning of his freshman year of college.

And it’s been two and a half weeks since someone has told him to be quiet. That he’s being too loud. That he’s making a scene.

He’s honestly just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

His roommate is a really restrained guy. Totally introverted and focused. Meticulous. When they’d first met, Shitty had held out a hand and grinned up at this somber Canadian brick shit house. “Hey! How ya doin’? I guess I’m your new roomie, man. Name’s B— Y’know what? Fuck it. It’s a shitty name anyway.”

And the pale, built fucker’s lips had twitched. Shitty’s guts had about dropped down to his shoes. According to his parents, he’d always “struggled with socialization”. He was always too loud, too much. And now he’d ostracized his roommate with a lame joke about his own insecurities before they’d even exchanged names.

But the guy had chuckled softly. Reached out and taken Shitty’s hand in a strong, dry grip and pumped it once. “Guess I’ll call you Shitty then. I’m Jack.”

In the two and a half weeks since they’ve been living together, Jack hasn’t told Shitty to pipe down once. Not even a joking finger to the lips. It’s starting to get to Shitty.

It was just the athletics teams for the first week. Not too many people for Shitty to piss off all at once. But then the rest of the student pop had arrived and now he’s just waiting to stick his foot so far down his throat he gags. It’s in his nature, right? It’s who he is. His parents had been trying to help him for years, trying to teach him better social skills, taking him to psychologists and psychiatrists… But nothing had helped. He’s still loud and obnoxious.

But no one has told him to shut the fuck up yet.

It’s the waiting more than anything that’s killing him. The anticipation of making a fool of himself. It’s made him so jumpy that he’ll instinctively duck his head down and scurry away after a few minutes of someone trying to talk to him.

He’s never been much good at what his mother calls “leaving his audience wanting more”. But there’s no reason he shouldn’t start learning now.

__________________

It’s Jack who calls him out on it eventually. They’re hanging out together in the room after a hard practice. Jack is silently and methodically massaging the soreness out of his calves while Shitty hangs upside-down off the side of the bed, letting the blood rush to his head as he watches Jack with blurry eyes.

“You’ve been playing hockey for a long time, haven’t you? Looks like you really know what you’re doing there.”

Jack looks up at Shitty and raises an eyebrow. “Are you watching me?”

Shitty shoots Jack an upside-down smirk and bats his eyelashes. “Oh, you charming Canuck. Of course I’m watching you. Who could look away from such an attractive young man with such _talented fingers.”_ Shitty waggles his eyebrows.

Jack flushes and Shitty immediately stops smiling. Fuck. _Fuck._ His goddamn mouth, always flapping before his brain even comes online… Perfect. Just perfect. He sits up quickly, vision swirling as the blood flows back down. He feels sick.

“I’m so sorry. Fuck, man. That was outta line. My bad, bro. I just… Ah, I don’t know what to say. I think without speaking most of the— Shit, I mean I speak without thinking… God, fuck. This sucks. _I_ suck. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

He’s tapping his fingers against his sides wildly. He can’t seem to look at Jack but his vision is narrowing in on different objects in the room and then jumping to the next. Rapidly. He gets hyper focused shots of his shoes next to Jack’s by the door. Jack’s are lined up perfectly. His are muddy and tossed in a heap. Jack’s lone motivational poster, carefully pinned to the wall. His own collection of postcards and scraps of paper, taped haphazardly all over his half of the room. A crushed soda can, lying only half a foot away from the trash.

He can distantly hear his own foot tapping out a staccato non-rhythm and the noisy sucking sound of air as he snorts like a spooked horse. God, he’s a mess.

“Hey. _Hey_.”

He looks up. Jack’s staring at him. He looks away again.

“Hey, Shitty. Look at me, man.”

He makes eye contact, miserable. Why’s he gotta make eye contact before Jack tells him he’s a fucking moron? Can’t the guy just tell him he’s fuckin’ retarded without having to stare deep into Shitty’s soul?

Jack smiles, softly. Shitty stops tapping his fingers for a moment. He’s actually yet to see a full smile from Jack.

“Shitty. It’s fine. It was funny, you know? You’re a funny guy.”

Well, fuck. It’s been two and half weeks since the beginning of Shitty’s freshman year of college and he’s about to start sobbing in his dorm room while his roommate makes awkward eye contact with him. He can feel the burn in his eyes and his lungs doing a terrible job taking in air correctly.

“Oh. I, uh…” He really, really doesn’t want to cry. “I think I have to go…” But where the hell else is he gonna do it? At least in here the only witness is Jack, who hardly speaks to anyone as it is. If he leaves, half the dorm’s gonna get a load of him full-on messy bawling. Snot and all.

“Why?” Jack cocks his head, frowning. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Shitty stands up, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I’m fine, dude. Just really sorry. Y’know. For teasing you. And for being so loud all the time. I know I’m annoying.” Oh, Jesus Christ. The official Knight floodgates have opened. He’s now entered full on compulsive babbling mode. “So, I’m sorry about that. And I’m also sorry about being a crappy roommate. And for not being a better player on the team. I know it, like, means a lot to you. I’m sorry I haven’t been as good as the rest of the frogs.”

“Shitty…”

He can’t even let Jack get a word in edgewise. “No, it’s like. I know I suck. And I’m sorry you had to get saddled with me in a tiny room, yeah? You’re like, a totally rad guy. Really quiet and focused. And I’m loud as fuck and can’t seem to shut up even when I want to…”

He sucks in a deep breath. He’d stopped looking at Jack as soon as he realized he wouldn’t be able to stop talking. So he’s just staring at the slightly dusty linoleum now, leaking eyes finally giving up their cohesion and letting a few drops slide down his cheeks. This was the absolute worst.

“I’m just… Sorry.”

Neither of them speak for a few seconds. A small miracle.

“You don’t follow professional hockey, do you Shitty?”

Shitty frowns and looks up at Jack again, hastily rubbing his tears away. What the hell kind of segue was that? Maybe it’s for the best that they both just pretend this never happened but what a clumsy change of topic.

“What?”

“I know you don’t follow professional hockey. Because you didn’t know who I was when we met. You just made a joke about yourself and it was funny.”

“What’re you talking about, man?”

Jack sighs and leans back on his bed. His voice floats softly over to Shitty, who lowers himself back onto his own bed to listen.

“Papa… My father. He was a really famous defenseman before he retired. An enforcer. Played with the Habs and the Pens. Won four cups. Maman’s an actress. And a model. Really successful.”

The gears are already turning in Shitty’s head. Jack does not sound like someone who’s bragging about his dope family. Jack sounds exactly like Shitty does when he talks about his parents. Respectful. Melancholy.

Terrified.

“The first time a pap took my picture, I was just a baby. Showed up in a local tabloid. Shot of me and my mother. The tagline said ‘Alicia Zimmermann spotted with infant son, Jack. We knew she had a bun in the oven but we didn’t know what she’d ended up pulling out. Put him back in, modeling agents joke. He’s not ready.’”

Shitty sucks in a breath and stares at Jack.

“The second time I was five. I was at a local rink with Papa. I was learning to skate. A man with a loud camera kept following us around the ice until my father turned and swore at him. A day later, the local newspaper released a little piece on how it was obvious I hadn’t inherited my father’s natural grace.”

Jack rolls over so he’s staring at the ceiling. “I didn’t know any of this until I was fourteen. Found it all on the internet. Those are only two though. There were a ton of those articles. About how I was ugly and fat, not as good at hockey as I should be. I had my first panic attack with seven tabs of op-eds on my adolescence open.”

“Jack…”

“My parents were very supportive. I don’t think I could have survived long without them. But it got to me, you know? It really got to me and when I was seventeen and in the juniors and set to be first in the draft, I… Euh, I…”

Jack trails off and Shitty waits. He doesn’t know how they got here. With the tears still drying on his face and his hands still nervously twitching. Jack pouring out his guts on the opposite bed.

This was so fucked up.

“ _Câlice_. I’ve never had to actually tell anyone before. Usually they just know. Or think they know anyway. They just assume what they’ve read online is true.”

Shitty hums in what he hopes is a supportive sounding way. He doesn’t trust himself to open his mouth.

“I just wanted to stop. Feeling like that, you know? So I. Euh. Ate an entire bottle of Xanax. With some beer. Um.”

“Christ.” It slips out of Shitty’s mouth before he can properly bite down on it.

“I know.” Jack’s closed his eyes at this point. He’s shaking slightly. Shitty slides out of bed and shuffles closer to him. “I was so fucked up and so scared and I hated myself so much. And afterwards… I couldn’t stop apologizing. I would apologize to my parents every time I spoke to them. Telling them how sorry I was for being such a problem child. Telling them how sorry I was that I’d worried them like that.”

Jack’s eyes open and he rolls over to look at Shitty, who freezes.

“Um.”

“Did you know that you say ‘sorry’ every time you tell a joke?”

There’s something wrong with Shitty’s stomach. Feels like there’s a fuckin’ wrestling match going on in there, with guys piling onto the ropes and slamming into the floor of the ring. Shitty can feel them rolling around in his guts.

“I… Do I? Sorry, that must be anno—”

“No. It’s not annoying.”

They’re both trapped there, staring at each other. Shitty’s halfway across the room and Jack’s curled up on his bed like he’s got the body mass of a guy half his size. Shitty’s still on the verge of tears and Jack’s still shaking.

“Hey, Jack.” Shitty whispers. “Can I give you a hug?”


	2. September-October

It’s a sort of stilted stop and go for a while after that. Shitty gets put on third line as a left winger and Jack takes first as center. When Shitty tries to congratulate Jack, he’s rebuffed. Jack glares at him and stomps off to the showers. It takes four minutes of Shitty flexing his legs and staring at his skates before he gets the courage to follow him in. They don’t talk as they’re washing up but Shitty speeds through his routine and throws his clothes on, following his surly roommate as he power walks across campus.

He’s pumping his legs to keep up with the guy. Jeez. You wouldn’t think three inches would be that much in the leg department but Shitty’s panting by the time he draws even with Jack.

They walk like that (or more of trot in Shitty’s case) back to the dorm. It’s chilly out and Shitty can feel drops of water from his hastily dried hair dripping cooly down the back of his neck. The air has that crisp smell of change. Rotting leaves, wood smoke. The sharp scent of potential snow. He sucks in a noseful of it, savoring the fall.

They reach the dormitory and Jack glances at him, still silent and glowering. Shitty doesn’t say anything but quirks his lips, shrugging his shoulders casually. Let Jack take that how he will. They slow to a stop under the overhang. Jack makes no move to press his keycard to the door.

Shitty’s happy to wait.

“I,” Jack begins, glancing out at the surrounding foliage. Shitty’s never thought highly of leaf peepers but, as he watches Jack stare unseeing at the fields of blood red and burning orange trees, he wishes that Jack could appreciate this. This moment.

“I don’t want to go back inside.” Jack takes a deep breath. Hopefully he’s smelling the snow and the leaves and the smoke. Hopefully he’s letting the sharp scent of change and potential touch him. But Shitty doubts it. Jack’s guard is up and the dude’s got some thick armor.

He reaches out slowly, and grasps Jack’s shoulder. Gives him a squeeze. Like a dad would, in a made-for-TV movie.

“Okay.”

Jack shrugs a bit, moves around under Shitty’s hand. Not enough to buck his hold but enough to indicate Jack’s discomfort. Uneasiness.

Touch doesn’t come easily to him, Shitty’s noticed. The guy seems to think that touch is a leading thing. A transition from something to another. An indication of… Well, of what Shitty’s not quite sure. Once he’d have gone with violence as the answer, with surety. Afterall, Jack’s a hockey player. When things get physical on the ice, when you drop your gloves, violence is usually assured.

But sometimes when he touches Jack, _casual_ touches, his roommate will turn to him with his big, hooded eyes and Shitty’s not sure what he expects. Sometimes the dude’s got a bit of a flush. Sometimes he does this thing where his left canine peeks out from over his bottom lip as he chews on it nervously. Sometimes his eyes flicker over Shitty’s face like he’s waiting for something to happen.

It makes Shitty nervous. He wants to apologize every time but he’s managed to keep his fat mouth shut so far. He’s just so worried about his strong, fragile friend, who opened himself up to Shitty of all people. Shitty, who’s eighteen years old and scared and _stupid_. Jack opens up to him and leaves himself in Shitty’s foolish hands and it terrifies Shitty every time he touches Jack.

So Shitty swallows his words and gives Jack’s shoulder another squeeze. Sends him a small smile.

Jack tries to smile back. It’s like watching some sort of clockwork doll, wound up too long ago. The smile inches its way across his beautiful, broken face and stalls. Slips into something more like a grimace.

Jack’s eyes are so fucked up.

“I’m… Going. On a walk.”

Jack’s staring out at the trees again. Shitty wonders what it is he’s seeing.

“Okay.”

Jack sighs. A big gust of air. He’s still got Shitty’s hand on his shoulder but he’s stopped squirming. He sighs a second time and it’s like a balloon deflating. He slumps down and, once again, Shitty is shocked at how such a huge guy can seem to shrivel up. It freaks him out, honestly.

He reaches up his other hand and wraps it around Jack’s shoulders. He doesn’t trust himself to speak without messing this up but Jack’s already acquiesced to touching. Might as well turn it into a full embrace.

Jack lets Shitty pull him into a hug. Lets himself sink down into it, making himself even smaller. He rests his forehead on Shitty’s shoulder. Mutters something into the fabric of Shitty’s sweatshirt.

“What’s up, man?”

Jack repeats himself. “Do you. Euh. Want to come with me? On my walk.”

Shitty feels like his chapped lips might actually split from how hard he’s grinning. He smiles out into the oncoming dusk, letting the odor of autumn surround him. Taking in the colorful, dying throes of the leaves, hanging precariously from dry branches.

“Abso-fucking- _lutely_.”

__________________

Halloween’s always been a favorite holiday of Shitty’s. He could tick off everything excellent about it on his fingers, if you let him. Secular? _Check._ Full of harmless yet historically fucked up traditions? _Check._ An excuse to throw a bangin’ party? _Motherfuckin’ check._

Plus there were the costumes. The lazy and witty among them thrived with clever, minimal effort get-ups.  Morally ambiguous companies mass produced outfits that showcased how over-sexualized women were and made people ask uncomfortable questions. Frat brothers could flounce around in ill-fitting dresses without too much social fallout

Shitty rubs his hands together excitedly, letting a wicked smirk grace his lips. He’s got a lot of planning to do but if he gets it just right…

He’s shaken out of his Halloween contemplations by the sight of Jack, who’s got an eyebrow raised and is staring at him with the goofiest fuckin’ face. The guy’s still hunched over his notebook, big hands smearing ink all over his ENG COMP 101 notes. The professor drones on about essay structure in the background but Shitty’s just about checked out of the class for the day. He doesn’t have any room in his head for this nonsense when he’s got an egg of a plot incubating in his mind, just waiting to be hatched.

He turns the smirk on Jack and nods slightly. _After class_ , he mouths.

Jack smiles warily back at him. He looks like he’s a little scared.

He should be.

After class, after everyone’s packed up their laptops and notebooks and half-empty cans of red bull, Shitty links his arm in Jack’s and pulls him towards the cafeteria. They grab their lunch while Shitty giddily explains to Jack what is so important about Halloween. How they only have two weeks until the party at the Hockey House (Shitty still thinks that name could use some work. But he doesn’t live there so it’s not really his place… Yet.). How the perfect costume could ease their way as freshmen and make the rest of their college experience easier and more fun (he might be exaggerating this one but he hopes Jack doesn’t mind the hyperbole).

Jack’s listening but he looks more than a little confused. “I don’t get it. Halloween is for kids, right? I haven’t been trick or treating since I was eight.” He pauses to cut up a chicken breast and then smiles shyly. “I was Léo Major. I had an eye patch.”

Shitty surreptitiously googles Léo Major under the table while shoving fries in his mouth. “Oh my god,” he mutters, accidentally spitting out a couple bites of potato. Jack makes a horrified noise. “Jack. Jacky-boy. You are such a fuckin’ _nerd_.”

Shitty watches Jack’s knuckles whiten around his silverware. “Sorry. Uh. Didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”

“You were chirping me, yeah?”

“...Yeah?”

Jack puts his utensils down, cracks his knuckles. Takes a deep breath and seems to shake off whatever approaching storm Shitty had sensed on the horizon. “Then you have nothing to apologize for.”

Shitty blinks and Jack goes back to carefully cutting his chicken into bite-sized pieces. “Huh.”

“Anyway. You were telling me about the wonders of Halloween. Where were you going with this?”

Shitty’s pushed his luck enough with that little stunt a few seconds before. Better leave it for the day. He’s talked enough, after all. No need to dominate the conversation.

“I just… I had a wild idea I wanted you to be a part of. Sorry, I know you’re always my sounding board for this kinda stuff. I know it’s annoying. We’ll just table it for know, okay?”

Jack casually swallows a bite of chicken. “Not annoying.” Takes another bite. “How wild?”

Shitty taps his fry on the table, running through his options. Trying to think three steps ahead in regards to this interaction. He trusts Jack. After just a couple months, he trusts him. And he said it’s not annoying. But still…

His brain’s still conflicted but his mouth makes the decision for him.

“Couple’s costume,” he blurts out, flushes a deep red, and shoves the fry into his mouth to try to keep anything else incriminating from coming out.

Jack is, if possible, even redder than he is. “But we aren’t… Euh. Dating.” He pauses and visibly begins to panic. “Right?”

Shitty frowns. “Well, no. Of course not, bro. Wait. What do you mean, right? Did you think it was a possibility?”

It’s kind of funny to watch Jack attempt to shove three mouthfuls of chicken into his mouth in quick succession but it’s not so funny when Jack is obviously freaking the fuck out and, simultaneously, choking on all the damn chicken he’s forcing down his throat.

“Woah, dude! Hold up... Slow down, dog! The chicken’s dead, it’s not going anywhere.” Shitty yells, reaching over and to pat Jack firmly on the back, trying to dislodge some of the stuff that is hypothetically trapped in his roommate’s throat. At the same time, Jack tries to dodge his hand, accidentally upends an entire plate of chicken and rice onto his own lap, and falls from his chair.

By the time Jack stops choking and Shitty quits attempting to force a Heimlich maneuver, the entire cafeteria is staring.

Jack, understandably, silently shoots to his feet and speed-walks out of the building. Shitty sighs and grabs his and Jack’s bags, slinging them both over his shoulder. Gives a little wave to his audience.

Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t say _anything_ , stupid.

“Dinner and a show, huh? Happy to keep you guys entertained! I don’t have a hat for you to throw coins into but, if anyone would like to contribute to the fund, we’re accepting any and all donations. Bitcoin, Venmo, and Paypal are all totally valid. Anyways! Show’s over, folks. Until next time.”

Shitty feels like he’s floating near the edge of the dining hall, watching someone else pull the strings of his puppet body. He watches himself tip an imaginary hat to the giggling and whispering crowd. Watches himself step into a modest curtsy.

And then he and his body trickle out the door of the building like so much gutter runoff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now accepting submissions for Jack and Shitty's "couple's" costume ("We're not dating!" "Are you sure of that, Jack-o?" "Yes! Fuck off!"). 
> 
> We've still gotta get through this Halloween party. Keep holding on to your dicks, kids. 
> 
> (I'm still sorry.)

**Author's Note:**

> There's more coming. Hold on to your dick.
> 
> (I'm sorry.)


End file.
